Down By the Salley Gardens
by ArtisticRainey
Summary: For writerdarkflamespyre, who asked for "anything extra from Butterflies, cos John and Elijah are seriously the cutest thing ever." Bless! They are adorable. So, here is a post-script from the epilogue, wherein the boys visit a pub. This story contains an OC and a M/M relationship, and you need to have read Butterflies to understand their background. Don't like? Don't read. Simple.


The gravel crunched under our feet as we approached the tiny pub. Nestled somewhere amid rolling Donegal hills, it was everything I expected from a traditional Irish pub. Thatched roof? Check. Smell of a turf fire? Check. Tiny windows? Check. A grey mizzle falling from a charcoal sky? Check. It was perfect.

Elijah started to walk to the entrance before I did and turned, jerking a thumb at the building.

"Come on, then. Haven't been in here in years. Hope they still do a good Guinness…"

Everything stopped. Everyone _looked_. I gulped. Elijah straightened his back.

Eventually, someone spoke.

"Jesus, boy. It's one of the Lynch twins!"

"Aaaaaaah, I'd recognise him anywhere, so I would!"

"By Christ, it is. Where have you been, boy? And more importantly, _which one are you_?"

There was a chorus of laughter and I watched as Elijah was swept away on a wave of welcome. There was much back-slapping and reminiscing and the phrase, 'red as ever' was repeated over and over. Then, a sharp-eyed man, who looked to be aged one-hundred-and-three, shot me a glance.

"And who's that boy there?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. "Friend of yours, Elijah?"

Extricating himself from the grip of a calloused hand, Eli nodded and gestured for me to come over.

"Aye," he said. "His name's John."

After a beat, the wave of welcome consumed me and I, too, was subjected to much back-slapping.

"A Yank?" the old man asked after I had said hello, my accent giving me away. "Ack, sure everyone's welcome here. Sit down, sit down."

I was unceremoniously plonked down on a bar stool and a pint of 'the black stuff' was planted in front of me. I reached for my wallet but the barman shook his head.

"First one's on the house," he said, and simply turned away.

Elijah slid onto the stool next to me and thanked the barman as a pint of Guinness was set down in front of him, too. I took a sip of my drink, closing my eyes as the taste exploded on my tongue. There was nothing quite like a pint of Guinness in an Irish pub. I glanced around, imbibing my surroundings. The ceiling was low, held up by ancient wooden beams. There wasn't even a televiewer inside. There wasn't even an old _jukebox_ – although I did spy a microphone and a guitar in the corner.

I wiped off my foam moustache and shot Elijah a suspicious look.

"How do they remember you?" I asked.

He shrugged.

"You underestimate how small this place is," he said. "Everyone knows everyone."

"But you haven't been back here in years," I said. "And didn't you move around a lot when you were in care?"

Eli sipped his drink and shrugged again.

"Irish people have good memories for their neighbours," he said. "I even ran into one of them in the C.A.R."

I shook my head and crossed my arms.

"No way," I said.

Elijah nodded, his expression not even changing at my incredulousness.

"I did, so," he said.

I grinned at that. I loved the way he said 'so' at the end of his sentences. It was something that had only started to creep in since we had landed on Irish soil. 'So' in this sense meant 'you,' a kind of affectionate way of addressing a friend.

He reached across and placed a hand on top of mine. I smiled. He was more than a friend, now.

Then he did something that I had not expected. Not here, in a tiny pub full of men. He leaned across and planted a kiss on my cheek.

And you know what? There was no reaction. None at all. I had been expecting a gasp, a shout of derision. Maybe even to be tossed out into the mizzling rain. But none of that happened. And I felt like a real heel for being so stuck in the Twentieth Century. _It's 2070_ , I thought. _Why do I still expect to be mocked and ridiculed for being me_?

"Do you still sing, lad?"

The ancient man's voice cut into my thoughts. Elijah did not respond, instead hiding his face in his glass.

"C'mon, lad," he said. "You always had a great voice. We still talk about your 'Spanish Lady.'" The man turned to the others. "Wouldn't we love a wee song, lads?"

There was a chorus of 'here, here' and 'aye,' which soon turned into a chant.

"Song, song, song!"

Clearly, there was only so much Elijah could take. After a few moments, he raised his hands and rose. I cocked my head to the side and cast him a questioning look. _Song?_ It asked. Elijah shrugged, his default response to anything. _Yeah_ , that particular shrug said. _So what?_

He crossed the small space to the microphone, tapped it to see if it was on, and then cleared his throat.

"I haven't sung since 2065," he said, and gained a roll of laughter. "However, I'll try."

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then blew me away.

 _It was down by the Salley Gardens, my love and I did meet._

 _She crossed the Salley Gardens with little snow-white feet._

 _She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree,_

 _But I was young and foolish, and with her did not agree._

His voice was clear, not quite melodic, but strong – better on the low notes than the high. And yet, the whole pub was rapt as they listened.

 _In a field down by the river, my love and I did stand_

 _And on my leaning shoulder, she laid her snow-white hand._

 _She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs._

 _But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears._

The words were sad, the tune melancholy, and yet it was absolutely beautiful. A feeling of pride swelled within me as he continued. _That's my Elijah._

 _Down by the Salley Gardens, my love and I did meet._

 _She crossed the Salley Gardens with little snow-white feet._

 _She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree,_

 _But I was young and foolish, and with her did not agree._

When he finished, the pub erupted into a raucous round of applause. Elijah gave the tiniest of nods before he walked back to me, his back slapped innumerous times again. He hopped up onto the stool and took a deep slug of his pint.

"Glad that's over," he said.

I laid a hand on his knee and smiled.

"That was great," I said. "I had no idea you could sing."

He shrugged.

"I can't, not really," he said. "There are just a few songs I know well. It's not like I'll be off signing a record contract any time soon."

"Well, I liked it," I said.

"Sorry it was a bit depressing, so," he said.

It was my turn to shrug.

"It was still beautiful."

Before he could respond, the barman placed another two pints down in front of us.

"Payment for the song," he said.

I grinned. _How does this place make any money?_ Then he winked at me before pinning Elijah with a narrow-eyed glare.

"There's two pints there," he said, gesturing at the glasses, "and you've only given us one song. I'll be expectin' another before the night is out."

Elijah palmed his face and sighed, before finishing his drink and starting on the next one.

"'Sake," he said. Then he looked at me and gestured to my glass. "Drink up, son," he said. "you're behind."

I laughed and shook my head. I didn't think it was possible, but it happened.

After the song, I loved him even more.


End file.
